


Septet

by this_kills_the_man



Series: *to the tune of rick astley* never gonna fiiiiniiiish theeeesssseeee [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Interdimensional Travel, M/M, Multiple Realities, No Porn, Spoilers, but honestly 1/7 (literally) of the story is in the canon so w/e, i mean it says canon compliant of course there's spoiler territory, i'll explain in the notes how because it might be a little confusing if readng the chapter alone?, not really into porn anyways, rated t because yuri swears like a goddamn sailor, timeline ambiguous because a lot of shit is implied, yuri didn't ask for this shit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_kills_the_man/pseuds/this_kills_the_man
Summary: Victor is the only one aware of all the timelines. Yuuri sees them in dreams, but to him, they’re just dreams. Yuri, well... he’s just unfortunate.(the fic in which aus exist in canon. an au within an au. au-ception.)





	1. Exposition - the one in which yuuri talks about boats

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first chapter to sort of work as a one-shot in case I don't update again (which has happened before).
> 
> OKAY, some clarifications for the Canon Compliant tag:  
> \- (chapter 1) two scenes take place soon before leaving for the Grand Prix FInals  
> \- (chapter 1) one takes place after the Gran Prix but before Yuuri moves to Russia  
> \- everybody still skates calm the fuck down  
> \- in terms of chapters, only 1/7 are in the "canon"-verse.
> 
> Beta'd by my lovely friend OrangeIcebreaker

Midnight meant cold. Cold and sharp and dry and no fuzzy blanket in the world, not even the three encircling him, kept it at bay. The child burrowed as far into his mattress as he could. Stuff his face in the pillow? Can’t breathe. Peeking a tiny nose from the fluff only resubmerged its tip into ice. His mother scolded him many times for covering his head with the blanket -  _ you’ll suffocate, Vitya! _ \- so he didn’t try that anymore, either.

A new source of hope appeared: a beam of silver. When it draped across his eyelids, the child gasped softly.  _ The moon’s out! _ It’d been snowing for days, and at last his dear friend re-emerged from its sheath of clouds. He bounced up to the headboard in glee.

Out the window stood, in all its glory, his orb in the sky, the same silky white as his hair. Blue irises gleamed. Despite any chastising he earned, the kid always spent those last few moments before sleep staring out into the night. How could he not? The sight enraptured him.

He loved the way it transformed his room. The skates on his wall reflected an otherworldly gleam whenever the moon’s light draped across its blades. His dipped his toes onto the carpet beside his bed, imagining that the cream illuminated underneath him dove into an ocean, and as he wriggled his toes he imagined the creatures dwelling below. Koi sounded cool, even if his childish brain knew they didn’t inhabit Russia.

Koi... their scales bore peaches and whites and browns and an utmost  _ divine _ shimmer. He’d always wanted one, almost as much as a puppy.

In his thoughts he’d managed to drift away from the headboard, sinking firmly into two of his three blankets. He longed for magic, and for strange worlds filled with fields of wildflowers and strange, archaic machines dusted with moss, all framed on the horizon by mountains. Glancing back towards the moon, he sighed. Oh, to fly. To soar miles above everyone else, hands grazing cotton-candy clouds, stars bursting from the navy overhead, and air so fresh it tickled his lungs. He wanted to explore this field of creamy koi oceans and wildflowers stretching out of sight. If only...

An idea struck him. The boy clamored back up to the headboard and stared directly into the orb puncturing the sky.

“I want to go there,” he whispered, reverent. It’s true; nothing piqued his curiosity more than the idea of exploration. Yet, as he said this, he couldn’t help but glance back at the skates strung beside his closet. This child loved the ice, too. He wanted both.

So, he turned back towards the moon and sent it a once-over with his eyes. “I’m still coming back,” he declared. His little brain mustered up the longest time he could comprehend for his visit; “a week.” After all, seven days spelled eternity for a child. That’s plenty time for mountains and flowers and koi.

Satisfied, he descended to the mattress again, and at last sleep embraced him with open arms.

-

Morning emerged like a plant bursting through earth: slow, measured, but once obvious,  _ painfully so _ . 

Yuuri just sat up, rubbed at his eyes, and sighed. Then he registered the hour. Inside, his mind filled with repetitions of _ Ugh, It’s morning _ . Another jog, another round of brisque air assaulting his face...  _ eugh _ . The previous night’s dream dissipated at the thought.

Still, he kept the images from his slumber somewhere in the back of his mind. He always did. This last one regaled a sky filled with stars, surrounding him in all shades of blue and white and gold, but more impossible laid the ship he sailed upon across that expanse. The setting reminded him of the types of stories Victor read for leisure.

Yuuri decided that his coach might appreciate the splendor.

He described the dream to Victor during practice a few hours later. They stationed themselves by the barrier, Yuuri hunched over with a water bottle in his hand while his companion looked on, curious.

"So I had this dream about everyone last night..."

"Oh?" Victor smiled. "What was it?"

"You and I were on this... time machine boat? Really steampunk. We had to travel across this sea of stars, and  _ oh man _ ,” he breathed, “it was unlike anything you’d ever seen.”

"...hmmm."

Yuuri saw a wistful expression cross Victor’s face. It disappeared as soon as it manifested, however, returning to his usual million-watt smile. That’s... an odd reaction to the statement. Well, the fact he reacted at all puzzled the skater. He literally just mentioned a dream of a boat.

His coach tilted his head, seeming to enjoy the ease between the two of them. At least, Yuuri hoped that’s what the gesture meant. "What happened?" asked Victor.

The skater leaned in a little. "We were sailing by this one really blue planet, and somehow I knew it was Phichit's. Our crew decided to visit for a while and rest."  _ There’d been so much rain,  _ he almost added, but the detail seemed a bit too specific. “You and I just kinda walked around town for a while."

Victor nodded.

Yuuri then glanced towards the ceiling, lost in his tale. "It was nighttime, I think. All the street lamps were on; I was reminded of a festival I liked as a kid, but british.”

The skater startled a little at his companion’s narrowing eyes. Was the dream that weird? Then Victor smirked. "That cider was nice, wasn't it?" the coach purred, cheek propped against a hand.

Yurri beamed. "Yeah! It was so warm and swee-wait."

A look of pure  _ oh shit _ crossed the young man’s face. Victor shouldn’t know that.

The coach’s disposition changed a little at his expression, however. He’d almost call it nervousness. "Hey, nighttime!” he cheered. “And I know you love cider.” Well, Yuuri  _ did _ love cider, adored it even.

Yuuri bought it. "Heh, yeah!" 

\--

The boy first registered the scent of white heather.

Of course, this made no sense to him. Last night he wished on the moon, crawled back into bed, and conked out five minutes later. Not once did the child exit his room for any reason nor did he the house itself. The Nikiforovs didn’t even  _ own _ a garden.

He next sensed a breeze. Not cold like the winters of St. Petersburg, but more the warmth of a mother’s touch, with her fingers grazing his skin. Unrealistic, given the current depth of snow that smothered his hometown.

His eyes opened to reveal the final surprise: cotton candy clouds. 

Roses, violets, tangerines, all wisps across a sky so blue it rivaled the hues of his own irises. As he peered closer, stars faded into view. The sheath of azure hid them only a little.  _ What? _ At this point, the boy believed this all a dream.

Until a bee landed on his arm.

Like any sane person,  _ of course _ , he proceeded to flail, terrified out of his mind over this little fuzzy creature. In response, said fluffball struck its stinger into his skin; an adamant  _ what the heck, kid? _ Well, tears prickling his eyes, the thought of dreams jettisoned right out the metaphorical window.

Many whys filled his head.  _ Why is it sunny? Why can’t I see snow? _ He sat up.  _ Why are there mountains?  _ The boy eyed the swell of his sting warily.  _ Why  _ bees _? _

Ten year olds go through a lot, he decided.

\--

For the next few days, Yuuri continued describing these dreams to Victor, only to stop the third break time doing so when his coach visibly blanched. Why? No idea. But, at that point, he’d exhausted interest in talking about them, anyways. They’re just some stupid dreams!

Right?

\--

Victor faced a dilemma. He watched the skater attempt some axles one afternoon - this new exercise always threw off his landings - only to wonder how he'd approach “it.” The whole _ I wished on a moon one time and now I spend every week in different universes _ “it.”

Some options raced through his head.

_ "Hey, guess what, we all live in multiple realities together!" _ What? Yuuri would probably think he was joking. Just as well that the skater stopped discussing his dreams two days ago.

_ "Tell me everything!" _ Invasive and kind of clingy. Why would his coach -- I mean lover -- I mean coach suddenly get so interested in a stupid dream? Victor didn't even know if he'd had any others like those.

_ "I can guess everything you're about to say." _ No. Too abrupt, too rude. Too Yuri.

_ "Why don't you come over to my place and we can 'talk about it'?" _ Victor, the dumbass, realized his desperation a little late for comfort. Besides, he lives with him.  _ Not to mention that he's kissed you  _ three times _ since the Cup of China,  _ he chided.  _ You dense toaster oven. _

Victor sighed.  _ He’ll get in your pants some day, don’t worry. _

Eventually he settles for just walking the guy home and not mentioning anything. If Yuuri talks about the dreams again later, Victor might try something else. Something more subtle.

...Oh, hell. He had no idea how any of this worked.

Did rules on who to tell exist? He restricted himself from discussing it with anyone just for the sake of reputation. He's a  _ somewhat eccentric _ genius, not an outright  _ balls-off-the-walls deranged _ genius. There’s a difference.

But Yuuri dreaming about these realities? And _ remembering  _ them? What did that even mean?

"...Victor?"

The coach looked up from his dinner. Oh, they’re at home already. "Hmm?"

Yuuri rested his chopsticks to the side. "Is something wrong? You've been really quiet," the skater asked. He face screamed concern, but Victor noticed some suspicion, as well. Ulp. "What's up?"

Victor flashed a smile. "Just thinking about preparations for the Grand Prix Finals." He eyed his bowl to escape his companion’s gaze.  _ Focus on your katsudon, Victor _ .

Yuuri’s brows furrowed. "No, you're not."

Victor cringes.  _ Shoot. _ He knew him too well.

_ Okay, plan B. _ The coach stirred at his food absentmindedly. "Well, it's been a long day, too.” He yawned for added affect, stretching his arms above him till they trembled, but judging by Yuuri’s expression he bought none of it. “Maybe I should turn in early..." 

He moved to get up, but the glare Yuuri shot him had him fastened to his seat once more. 

Victor lamented the dangers of having a smart boyfriend.

Yuuri met his eyes with an intensity capable of combustion. “Victor,” he said. When the coach didn’t reply, his companion looked on the verge of murder, hair riled and glasses askew. Well, there goes the innocent concern.

He cleared his throat again as a warning. " _ Victor. _ " 

Victor realized exactly three point five seconds later that he's using  _ that _ tone. The I-Am-Now-Going-To-Be-Uncharacteristically-Forward tone. The Victor-You’re-Fucked tone.

"Yes~?" He cooed, despite the sweat dusting at the nape of his neck. Yuuri then seemed 5000% more frustrated, if such increase was even possible, at his coach’s sonorous tune. Oops. 

Victor prepared for the worst when something unexpected happened. Yuuri simply cocked his head to the side and asked, "When's your birthday?"

Huh? That question came out of nowhere. "Christmas. You know that,” he responded, tentative.

His mind entered a mantra of  _ shitshitshit _ when his protege-lover-protege-whatever morphed into something so terrifying, eros didn’t even fit the bill anymore. No one taught him this. "If you're surprised by my asking you something so stupid, think about how surprised  _ I  _ am that  _ you're _ acting so stupid." 

Ouch.

Victor took his turn to fluster. How did that english phrase go? My, how the turntables? 

"I-Uh."

Victor had a decision to make, and damn fast.

"...tell me about that dream again," the coach finally replied. He ignored the confusion replacing his friend’s -- lover’s --  _ oh my god who even cares _ ’s fury. Victor needed to know; his hunch demanded attention.

The skater in front of him averted his gaze. "Um, I'm not sure I remember it all that well...?” Yuuri-ese for  _ 'Victor what the fuck does this have to do with anything are you like ten' _ .

"Whatever you remember." Clean and simple. Victor's in for it now, he realized, and there’s no turning back.

Yuuri tried (and failed) to swallow the lump in his throat. “U-uh,” He muttered. "Well, there was the time machine boat-” His eyes widened. “Pirates!" 

Victor lept almost thirty feet in the air.  _ "Eack!?" _

"Oh, uh, sorry!” he stammered, expression frantic.  _ There’s the Yuuri I know, _ Victor mused. Then the skater’s movements mellowed as he continued. “I just remembered: we're space pirates in the dream. We travel through time to explore the universe."

We  _ are.  _ Present tense. Even Yuuri seemed to catch on.

More importantly, his memory showed  _ undeniable  _ detail, much like Victor's own recollections of other lives.

Victor decided to spare him retelling the whole thing. "Describe the cider."

The skater in front of him looked a bit... frightened? Surprised? Dazed? He seemed to reply in a sort of stupor. "Sharp. They used fuji apples and a dash of cinnamon. You asked for whipped cream and the brewer stared at you like you grew a second head.”

Exactly on the nose.

"Yuuri... how many dreams like these do you have?"

Yuuri's breathless. "Each night. For over a year."

"Every one?"

"Every one."

"...how many different.." worlds? Universes? Dimensions? What terminology would he recognize? "...types of dreams occur?"

He heard ruffling from the skater's side: counting fingers. "Seven."

Victor leaned far over the table now. "What are they like?" He saw every bead of sweat trailing the skater’s forehead, each eyelash as they quivered. At last, Yuuri broke. 

"What the heck does this mean anyways!?” he demanded. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, fingers clutching the hem of his shirt for dear life. Face paling, he stammered, “What's? I-?"

_ Oh, god, hyperventilating. Not good _ .

"Yuuri, calm down," he soothed, over by his side in an instant. "It doesn't have to mean anything."  _ Shit. Think Victor, think! _

Yuuri looked on the verge of tears, eyes rimmed with red and chest heaving. If Victor didn’t know any better, he’d say the skater was in pain.... Wait.  _ Oh, no, is he?  _ The coach wrung his hands. He screwed up so bad.  _ Does he know too muc- _

The voice speaking sounded warbled beyond recognition. "I don't get it, what do I..?".

Eyes rolling up into his head, Yuuri collapsed before he could finish.

Panic. That's the only emotion Victor processed as the man beside him flopped onto his knees with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. At this Victor thought he  _ did  _ actually push some kind of boundary.

_ Is this what happens when I tell people? They overload? What happens to them? Is Yuuri different? _

Then the same words resurfaced over and over: _ Why did he start having dreams? _

Thanking every star he knew the name of that the skater was at least still breathing, as well as for the fact that everyone else at the Katsuki residence already fell asleep, he found himself playing the waiting game. Waiting for Yuuri to wake up. If he'd wake up.

Which, he did. Suddenly. Out of nowhere.

And he sobbed and held Victor and laughed and  _ what the fuck? _

"Yuuri?" Victor mumbled. Not said. Mumbled. His jaw didn't cooperate.

Stuck in his iron grip, the coach sat in shock as Yuuri just kept hugging, crying, the biggest damn smile on his face. Cryptic as ever, the skater then shot up and dashed to his room. 

"Meet me by village square tomorrow!" he called back, just loud enough not wake up the others.

Village square. That's reality number 5, Victor thinks, the ones he's slated for tomo-oh.

Oh.

He...

He's aware now.

\--

The doors to the rink bust open, revealing the other far more russian and even further more choleric Yuri.  _ Wait, what? _ Victor thinks.  _ Isn’t he- _

"Okay,  _ geniy _ ,” he spits, storming over to Yuuri, “you're going to sit down and listen to me rant because I had the  _ weirdest _ dream last night. And before you ask-” Yuuri found himself shoved back onto the bench, the Russian perched in front of him on a nearby stool and  _ staring _ \- “Yes, I think it’s entirely your fault.”

Yuuri shot back a look of pure ‘ _ what the hell _ ?’ to Victor, who just shrugged in reply.

Yuri Plisetsky, determined? Sure. Arrogant? Maybe. Paranoid? Well...

The teen blushed a storm. He pulled his hoodie so far over his eyes Yuuri wondered if he smelled his own breath. “Okay, so it's this old medieval town.” He starts. “I see you and Victor by this fountain-"

Village square, Victor realizes. He listened to Yuri’s terror and ticked off every description there.

Yep, clear as crystal.

\--

Yuri wanted to  _ murder _ these two.

Hours later, the three situated themselves in an obscure coffee shop just outside of Hasetsu, and the teen found himself under a barrage of absolute garbage, ideas fed straight from some young adult novel. They’re finally off their rockers.

“And you’re telling me this  _ why? _ ”

Yuuri nursed his cider in thought. “Well, you came here from Russia to yell at me.”

“Shove you,” Victor corrected, “and then scream at you for a solid thirty minutes. It was entertaining.”

_ Entertaining?!  _ The teen pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Two aspects these lovesick assholes’ attitude grated at him. One, because every nerve has been pushed.  _  Every single one _ .

And two, they’re absolutely right.

A month of waking up in the middle of each night, plagued by a bunch of fantastical  _ bullshit _ of pirates or crime syndicates or whatever, had his practice sessions bombing by the tenfold. Why did they bother him? Because those  _ goddamn sappy idiots were the center of every one _ .

**_And he got along with them._ **

He finally decided on an ultimatum: run through his free skate at practice the next day and  _ not  _ trip up every five seconds - an event so uncharacteristic that the past two weeks pummeled his self esteem - or fly over to that dumb island and beat some sense into the pair. Yuuri ended up the main target because, well, he’s Yuuri, the femme-fatale pork cutlet bowl of  _ how does that analogy even work? _

That Thursday. That fateful Thursday.

He slammed into the ice after fumbling a triple. A  _ triple _ . Not even part of a combination jump, not even a quad.

Yavok bellowed after him as he stormed from the rink.

A ticket to Japan and hours of flight later, and there stood Ice Castle Hasetsu,  _ mocking _ him. These were unprecedented levels of anger, even for someone nicknamed the Russian Punk. He didn’t even bother acknowledging Yuuko at the counter (even though he desperately wanted to).

Yuri later decided that was the worst idea in the history of ever. 

“Actually Victor,” Yuuri chimed, pushing up his glasses, “You didn’t try to convince me right off the bat either. Why Yuri?”  _ The last person to ever believe this whole thing? _

“Oh. Well.”

Yuri ground his teeth. The bastard is at  _ a loss for words _ . Why?

After a moment of silence, the coach cleared his throat. “Yuuri,” Victor chided, “you realize you literally  _ fainted _ after finding out, right?”

...That’s why.

The Russian teen wanted to laugh. Cackle. Tear up after an eternity trying to catch his breath, only to collapse into another fit. After all, this entire ordeal was a  _ fucking joke _ .

“Why do you think I’d ever believe this, this,” he fumed, trying to find an appropriate english word for the tomfuckery they spewed. “Do you  _ really _ think some, ‘Oh, Yuuri,  _ love _ -” he hissed the word through his teeth - “you passed out like a pansy after finding out fairies exist’ is going to convince me? Because it’s not!”

...Yuri realized the entire cafe stared at them after his outburst.

The coach clasped his hands together, shooting from his chair. “Okaaaay~ We should probably go...!” Victor shot daggers at him from where he stood; the teen then realized how badly he just fucked up.

He ended up paying for the drinks. Dammit.


	2. Introduction - the one in which victor discovers what it means to be lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten-year-old Victor gets more than he bargained for, Yuuri gives up, and Yuri appears for like a sentence.
> 
> (Reality #2: The first one?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH NOT A ONE-SHOT HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DUDES
> 
> (the show's ending killed me. i had to bask in it for a few days before i got back to this im sorry)

Children breathe life into everything they see. That potted plant on the kitchen sill wilted at _ least  _ a week ago, leaving behind a mere pathetic lump, but a child gazes in wonder as this lush creature hardens its skin to deflect itself in the throes of battle. 

No storm in the world can kill off spring; just collect some sunshine in a cup before the rain tries to stash it away. It’s considered recycling.

Dogs don’t  _ bark _ , either. They chatter in excitement amongst one another, or declare their love like a knight to a dame, or fend off that malicious man edging in towards the house with a sack over his shoulder (don’t listen to the rustling; it’s not really mail, it’s probably a dead body). Whatever they say, it’s always something  _ exciting _ . 

In our seemingly hopeless existence, children’s dreams preserve that spirit of adventure, and, without a doubt, know how to bring out a smile. Victor was no such exception in his youth. 

But like all children, no fairy princess in the world keeps away the monsters under the bed.

And so, Victor feared.

\--

_ Ten year olds go through a lot, he decided. _ Just like that, the magic ended.

The bee sting sat long forgotten on his forearm as his “why”s went from curious to absolutely  _ mortified _ . Soon those “why”s crumbled altogether in favor of “where”s.  _ Where am I? Where’s mother?  _

His eyes, no longer drinking in the flurry of colors around him, bore into the grass at his feet when he realized he had no idea. He  _ thought  _ he still wanted to explore this place. Yet, sitting in this massive field, dotted with scrap heaps, flower patches that licked at his skin, and with nothing to see but the mountains looming like monsters in the distance—everything just  _ too, too much _ to take in all at once—he longed for home. 

Did the moon actually...? Ugh, stupid moon and his own stupid wishes. This was a bad idea. 

Oh, well. Maybe someone around knew where he was. 

It took Victor a while to actually speak.

“...H-hello?” He croaked

“...”

Minutes passed until it registered that  _ oh. Nothing happened. _

His stomach churned as unwelcome thoughts entered his mind. “ _ Hellooooo!? _ ” he cried. As each moment passed, Victor became more aware of the  _ emptiness _ that curled around him, a mere pulsing against his skin. 

_ So cold. Cold and sharp and dry and _ oh, wait. When had he complained about this before?

The child’s breath hitched. Home. He’d been at home.

Then the sheer scale of the area magnified as that  _ empty _ tousled his hair, itching the heat in his abdomen until it left him shaking like a leaf.

Someone had to respond. There had to be at least one person out there. Maybe they were too far to hear. He couldn’t imagine a world without people.  _ Someone. Anyone. _

Yet, only the wind whistled back at him.

Minutes trickled by. Unable to comprehend the buzzing in his head when he knew for a fact that there were no more bees, his naive mind rationalized the best it could. He’s in his dream world. Everything bright and beautiful surrounds him. Shouldn’t he be happy?

His fantasy didn’t think to include anyone, didn’t think to include his home with mother and her warmth, but shouldn’t he be happy?

His vision blurred, followed by twin trails of wet caressing his cheeks. Tears. 

Victor discovered only then the true lonesomeness of beauty. Stars, flowers, mountains, none of it mattered if he had no one to share that with.

The tears morphed into proper sobs when he realized that there  _ should _ be people there, too. Those strange heaps appeared to be remnants of machines and  _ someone _ had to build those, even if the things looked rather... menacing. Well, the word “menacing” didn’t pop up in his childish brain so much as the phrase “very scary.” 

Were he less frantic, the association with that phrase would have lead to confusion; for him, “scary” meant people, not things. Like Yakov.

“You wandered all the way out  _ here _ ?!”

His tears cut off mid-sniffle.  _ A person? _

“Oh,”  _ hiccup _ , “hi,” he greeted, rubbing at his face with a sleeve. Erasing the moisture shifted his mindset enough to focus on his new companion. The adult, sounding like man, seemed to yell from somewhere behind him, so he swiveled to look over his shoulder. “How are you-”

His companion swooped him up into his arms before he could continue. After some shushing towards the blubbering child (Victor suppressed a few final hiccups), the man started to scold him for something about ‘getting too far away’ and ‘not paying attention,’ maybe even a comment about ‘running off into danger.’ But, as he got a good look at the stranger’s face, he found he couldn’t concentrate on any of the words assaulting him.

_ Yakov?! _

“...Are you even listening?” Victor finally registered. He blinked in response, which provoked a rather exasperated sigh from his coach. “Well, I was worried sick,  _ Vitya! _ Don’t do that again.”

“Oh.” He paused for a moment. Then, he finally managed a watery smile “Okay.”

For once, Victor welcomed his coach’s brand of tough love.

After he descended from his companion’s grip and onto his feet, the child then looked up at him with a curious expression. “Where are we?” he asked. Loneliness forgotten, he remembered the pressing issue of his location.

Yakov began trekking back the way he came, leaving Victor to trail behind him. “Just behind town,” he grunted.

“Town?”

His coach frowned. “Home.”

A pause. “...oh.”

Yakov stopped. Pivoting around to face the boy with an expression somewhere between scrutiny and concern, he met the eyes of his charge. “You’re awfully quiet, you know.” 

_ Am I really? _ Yet Victor couldn’t think of anything to talk about.

“You shouldn’t have been out there so long,” Yakov continued, brows furrowing deeper. The child realized that this was his backhanded way of asking ‘ _ what’s wrong?’ _ His coach knew him too well; Victor spoke a million miles a minute  _ every _ minute, as though if he didn’t he’d forget whatever caught his attention. Which, to be fair, happened quite a bit.

“I, um,” he sputtered, “I’m just tired, yeah.” The child felt way too distracted to respond with much else. Did he skate in this fantasy, too? Was there a St. Petersburg? So many questions needed answers. He shrugged and shot out a quick, “Sorry, coach,” as a peace offering.

He expected some kind of reprimand. “That’s no excuse,” or “you need to think these things through more.” Even some long winded talk about getting enough sleep fit the bill. Instead, Yakov shocked him with just one word, one statement filled with a confusion Victor blanched at.

“...Coach?”

The boy deflated a little, some of that  _ empty _ brushing the nape of his neck.  _ He’s not Yakov, is he? _

Well, was he, though? As the two resumed their trek, he lost himself in his ruminations over the man’s identity. He looked like Yakov, sounded like Yakov, and even carried himself in that dignified (though grumpy) Yakov way. Even so, his coach only showed recollections of the strange world they explored. Any mention of actual St. Petersburg flew right over his head.

_ Actual  _ St Petersburg. Victor's heart began to sink. So there probably  _ wasn’t _ a St. Petersburg in his fantasy.

Victor felt more than heard the rustle of grass give way to gravel, and by that point he really  _ did _ feel tired. He decided to think about the Yakov issue later. After all, the child still had the rest of the week to explore this strange new world, and the prospect of that adventure excited him.

\--

“...Wait, if he’s not your coach than what is he?”

“Oh, I still have no idea.” And really, he didn’t. Yakov alluded him. “Okay, take a left here. We’re almost there...”

\--

“So this is the first thing you saw?”

Victor gave an enthusiastic nod. “Yep! Scared the living daylights out of me, too.” The bees, he meant. Totally not the whole mental breakdown he’d described twenty minutes ago. (Really, he should have just cut that part out. Ten year olds go through a lot.)

Yuuri brought a finger to his lips, eyes gliding over the landscape before him; entranced, almost. He had that sparkle in his gaze again. 

Even after all those years, the expanse of the field still ceased to amaze. Bunches of Drummond Phlox peppered the grasslands in spurts of burgundy, accompanied by stretches of sky blue Callirhoe involucrata, but Victor always fancied his little patch of White Heather. They instilled a sense of security within him. 

Why? He first woke up in a bed of those blossoms. Adoration followed suit.

Furthermore, he adored the way the stars cut into the sky even in daytime. Many hours of his adolescence passed by in that field lazing around, working to give every one of them a name—which he eventually did, by the way—until Yakov found him and dragged his reluctant butt back home. Countless grass stains attest to that.

Victor also adored the mountains that encompassed the field. At sunrise, they basked in the roses and honeys painting the sky, looming like splotches of watercolor against the horizon. He’d have to show Yuuri that sometime, too. Midday didn’t do the sight justice.

Even those strange heaps of scraps grew on him, disconcerting as they were. As he aged they began resembling people to him. Robots, but humanoid. Androids? Still menacing, but oh,  _ so cool _ .

Yuuri finally smiled. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, nothing more than a soft exhale between parted lips.

Victor wanted to reply to his fiancé with some cheesy  _ “You’re far more beautiful, love” _ line, but decided to let the moment live for a little longer. In truth, he too felt emotional about his first little creation. A comfortable silence stretched between the two, punctuated only by a breeze tugging at their hair and clothes.

At last Yuuri shifted his focus from the field to his companion. “That reminds me; have you always had seven?” he asked.

With a smile that could warm a thousand suns, Victor chuckled back at the man, “Oh, of course not! I guess I never really explained that.” He motioned for Yuuri to sit beside him as he himself sunk to the grass, content to spend the rest of the afternoon lazing around.

His companion complied after a moment of hesitation. Perched on his knees, he eyed the man sprawled before him. “You’re not just going to take a nap, are you?”

The Russian blinked. “Why would I do that?” He  _ did _ just imply an ensuing story.

“You look like you’re about to.” Yuuri motioned to a slack posture indicative of literally  _ melting _ into the earth at any moment. His fiance shot upright immediately.

“Oh, sorry,” he murmured, pink dusting his cheeks. “Anyways, they pop up one at a time, anywhere from months to years apart. I was seventeen when I got bored again...”  _ Yaawwwwn _ . “I finally named...” He started to slouch again. “...every star, so I...”

_ Snooooooooooooooooooore. _

When Victor finally flopped back on the grass, Yuuri resigned himself to the reality that his significant other seemed more interested in dozing then storytelling. A shame, too. It’s the end of the week, and as much as this place amazed him (and reminded him of a certain JRPG for some reason), he still wanted to hear about Victor’s other adventures.

He’ll just have to ask him again back in St. Petersburg.

\--

Dreams wrapped around Victor like a blanket, smothering yet secure, an experience that grounded him more than reality ever could. Funny, considering he just dreamed like any normal person. No strange peeks into another life like Yuuri, no... whatever it was that riled the other Yuri to the point of combustion. He experienced simple excursions from stress when asleep, that’s all.

His eyes opened to oceans that time. Barcelona; the morning of the Grand Prix. His ring gleamed like the hope in his heart, mirroring the sun peeking through shades of pewter lining the horizon.

That brilliant gold served as a beacon. For hope, maybe. For many things. He recalled ruminations on “life and love” along that shoreline.

His fingers rose into view, sight obscured by only the sight of that ring, and phantom sensations of breath stirred within his chest. One brief inhale, release for thrice as long. He loved that feeling, relief. It lessened the churn in his stomach to just  _ not exist _ for a moment.

Pauses felt so good because his life consisted more of emotion than anything physical. Curiosity, amusement, exhilaration, attraction, admiration . 

_ Shock, disorientation, helplessness, insecurity, disappointment, regret. _

Novelty.  _ Loneliness. _

He tried not to think about the negatives too much.

Instead, Victor smiled. He loved the lack of pretense surrounding his plunges into escape. Wind tousled his hair, waves rolled about in pitches and shifts before him, but even with those proofs of time he felt more than knew the lack of a boot against his back. No boot  _ would _ strike, in fact. This moment looped into a precious bubble for him and him alone to enjoy.

In that strange, hazy headspace he clung to in slumber, the russian could simply  _ enjoy _ sensations without any baggage.

He enjoyed it so much that, for years, he’d rue the point when wakefulness finally overtook him. But with Yuuri, he had a reason to face existence again. Not for novelty, or in spite of loneliness; someone else existed  _ with _ him.

Oh, Yurio, too. He had no idea why but, hey, good for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lets be real if a ten year old randomly woke up in the middle of nowhere they'd probably panic
> 
> yes, the jrpg is xenoblade chronicles because this reality is based (LOOSELY, L O O S E L Y) off of Guar Plains; not to mention that this entire fic was inspired by that game's ost.


End file.
